


Unregrettable Accidental Reanimation

by wordyanansi



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pushing Daisies Fusion, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 04:07:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5651881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordyanansi/pseuds/wordyanansi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“I’m dead. This better not be heaven,” Clarke snaps at him. “You didn’t call me.” He kind of gapes at her for a moment. <br/>“I’m sorry. It was… unintentional. And.. I wish I hadn’t, not called you back. Wish I had called you back, I mean. But, I’m kind of here to find out about your murder,” Bellamy tried. Clarke made her going to war face. He knew that face. He tried not to smile. </em>
</p><p>Bellamy doesn't love the the thing he does with the dead people. But it helps Octavia do her PI thing and it's not like the bookshop is the most lucrative shop in town.... Of course... he didn't know it was Clarke he was meant to be reanimating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unregrettable Accidental Reanimation

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know. It's weird. There will be no more of this AU. It is a short weird little thing I wrote in bits and pieces over the Christmas break while my in-laws were in the house... and it was cathartic. 
> 
> Anyway, I love Pushing Daisies, it's a gorgeous fairytale world in which a dark and bizarre thing happens and it's beautiful. And weird. And happy. And I want Anna Friel/Chuck's entire wardrobe.

“This is Clarke Griffin. You didn’t tell me it was Clarke Griffin,” Bellamy said, staring at the corpse of the girl he once thought he loved. Possibly still loved. Or not. He meant to say, the tugging in his stomach and tightening of his chest and closing over of his throat is totally normal as a reaction when someone you know, or knew once, is dead. 

 

Octavia sighed heavily. 

“I know it’s Clarke Griffin. It’s clearly Clarke Griffin. We were hired to find out who killed her,” Octavia explains. “Do your thing. Touch the girl, ask the question, return her to her blissful afterlife.” Bellamy glared at her.

“It’s Clarke Griffin,” Bellamy says, pointing at the corpse. Octavia rolls her eyes. 

“Yes, and if I’d told you it was Clarke Griffin you were doing the temporarily reanimation thing to you wouldn’t have come. And her mother is paying us a lot of money. Like buy an island money,” Octavia said. “I know it’s kind of complicated.”

“I killed her father, O,” Bellamy says drily. “It’s kind of… awkward.” Octavia sighs heavily again.

“I know, the second you figured it out you dumped her and stopped returning her calls. Which was asshole behaviour. Because, you know, it was accident. You were ten. You didn’t know,” Octavia says, slightly less bluntly. “You didn’t know you had weird morbid super powers. Mom died, you touched her, and you didn’t touch her again for a bit and then Jake died and then Mom died. And you haven’t done it since.” Bellamy sighs.

“Still. Complicated. Awkward,” Bellamy says, looking back at Clarke… or the body that was Clarke, he was never really clear on the distinction. 

“And you’re still in love with her, right? Because you’re a pathetic pining weirdo?” Octavia says, back to blunt. “Buy an island money, Bell. We need this.” Bellamy takes a deep breath. 

“Okay, get out,” Bellamy instructs her. Octavia opens her mouth to protest. “If I’m doing this, you need to let me do this alone. It’s a lot to cover in a minute, and I don’t particularly want you around running commentary while I do it.” 

“Buy an island money, Bellamy. I swear to god I will never speak to you again if you lose us buy an island money because you have an awkward thing for the murder victim.” Bellamy glares at her until she leaves the room. 

 

Bellamy sighs heavily.

“Okay, Blake, you can do this. It’s your thing. You’ve got this,” he tells himself, trying to psych himself up. “Touch the girl, ask the questions, de-animate the girl. You got this. Fuck. I don’t got this. Buy an island money. You can do this.” He took another deep breath, grimaced, leaning in quickly and jabbed her with his finger (not the lingering stroke of her cheek he’d been thinking about since the not calling thing). Clarke sat up, suddenly, as if startled, like they all did. She glared at Bellamy. There wasn’t usually glaring.

“I’m dead. This better not be heaven,” Clarke snaps at him. “You didn’t call me.” He kind of gapes at her for a moment. 

“I’m sorry. It was… unintentional. And.. I wish I hadn’t, not called you back. Wish I had called you back, I mean. But, I’m kind of here to find out about your murder,” Bellamy tried. Clarke made her going to war face. He knew that face. He tried not to smile. 

“So this isn’t heaven. But I am dead. I know I’m dead. Definitely dead. So how are you talking to me if I’m dead? Are you a psychic?” Clarke questions. 

“Uh, no, not psychic. And we don’t have a lot of time. But… it’s a thing I can do. I can touch someone and they come back to life until I touch them… you know what? This isn’t vital. Who killed you, Clarke? You tell me, justice gets served, and your mother pays us an obscene amount of money,” Bellamy explains. 

“You’re doing this for the money? And how was this something you didn’t tell me when we were dating? Is this the reason that you ran away? When did this start?” Clarke says, interrogating him. Bellamy glances at his watch, ten seconds. 

“No time. Who killed you?” Bellamy asks, starting to feel a little panicked. This was a terrible idea from the outset and he blamed Octavia. Which, to be fair, most of the truly awful decisions he made were because of Octavia. But this one was absolutely her fault and he was going to have to effectively kill the girl he loved. He felt vaguely ill.

“Why do we have no time?” Clarke demands. Five seconds. Bellamy groans, glances at his watch, and makes a split second decision. She’s going to hate it. Octavia’s going to hate it. He’s going to hate himself later. But… She was was taken too early, unfairly, and he firmly believed that the world would be a better place with her in it. 

 

He held his breath. 

 

Too late now. All he had to do was, you know, not touch her ever again. 

 

Fuck. 

 

Clarke was still glaring at him. He’d done it. Again. The thing he said he’d never do again. And the evidence was staring right at him. 

“Uh, Octavia, you’re still alive out there right?” Bellamy called out awkwardly. Eyes closed, breath still held. Because that really would be the most fucked up thing about this fucked up thing that he could do.

“Why would Octavia not be alive?” Clarke asks, climbing out of the coffin and folding her arms across her chest. Octavia enters, throwing the door open dramatically.

“Please tell me you did not permanently un-dead your dead ex girlfriend because you have unrequited issues?” Octavia demands. “Because I swear to god if you risked my life over your libido I will murder you.” 

“I didn’t… It didn’t go to plan, okay? She had questions,” Bellamy defends himself. 

“I still have questions,” Clarke interjects. “I was dead. Now I’m not. It seems like the kind of question that a person should ask.” Bellamy and Octavia exchange a look, and then a shrug.

“Less than you’d think,” Bellamy says. 

“Of course, they aren’t normally old girlfriends,” Octavia points out. “I mean, plus side, we’ll get more info on the murder. On the downside, consequences, bro. Also: THERE IS A DEAD GIRL ALIVE WHO SHOULD NOT BE!” Bellamy makes a noise that seemed appropriate as a reaction but didn’t actually mean anything.  He didn’t really have a defense for this. Or a plan. 

“Speaking as the dead girl who is currently alive again: COULD YOU PLEASE TELL ME WHAT’S GOING ON?” Clarke demands. 

“If we could all lower our voices,” Bellamy says, “and probably head for the exit? And… maybe check the office?” Octavia scowls. 

“You killed the fucking funeral director because you couldn’t re-dead Clarke in time,” Octavia snaps. And then sighs. “I’ll go do recon, you get Clarke out unnoticed.” She turns to leave and then turns back. “Do not, I repeat, do not touch his skin with yours or you’ll die again and the funeral director will have died for nothing.” Clarke gaped at Octavia, and then looked at Bellamy wide eyed.

“Someone is dead because you didn’t re-dead me?” Clarke asks. Bellamy seriously considered re-deading her anyway, just for a moment, and made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. 

“You wouldn’t answer the question or stop arguing with me and I ran out of time. I didn’t mean to,” Bellamy defends himself. Octavia gives him one final withering glance before she leaves. 

 

“I will answer all of your questions. But right now, we do kind of need to get out of here,” Bellamy tells her. Clarke sighs.

“Fine. But I have a lot of questions and you will answer them all,” Clarke tells him. “Now,” she says, dusting off her dress and then looking up at him and offers him a tight smile. “Thanks for reviving me. How do we get out of here?” 

  
  


Clarke’s mercifully quiet as he snuck her out a side door. She was even quiet when Octavia threw herself into the car and confirmed that the funeral director was dead and she’d called the ambulance. She was even quiet on the drive back to Blake’s home/bookshop. She was quiet right up until she was sitting on one of the big armchairs in the shop and Miller had placed a warm cup of cocoa with a dash of peppermint schnapps in her hands. Octavia and Bellamy were sitting opposite her.

“Does he know?” Clarke asks, after Miller’s walked away. Bellamy shakes his head.

“No. He thinks I’m just overprotective and weird about Octavia being a PI,” Bellamy says. Clarke snorts.

“Because that’s so far from the truth,” she says, and Octavia coughs to cover a laugh. Clarke takes a sip of her drink.

“Here’s what I think. I think that this is scientifically and logically impossible. But the fact remains that you have a weird magic power that works on skin to skin contact with the deceased. You reanimate them so that Octavia can do her detective thing and make the bulk of your income because this shop has never been that successful. And it’s basically inconsequential that you do it because you touch them again within the minute and it’s like it never happened except for the knowledge,” Clarke says. Bellamy nods as Clarke takes another sip of her drink. 

“But if you don’t touch them again within the minute, balance has to be restored,” Clarke adds. “Which is why the funeral director is dead and I’m alive.”

“You kept arguing about unimportant things,” Bellamy defended himself. “And you still haven’t told us who killed you. Or why. Which was, you know, the point.”

“For the money,” Clarke snaps. “Which is kind of shitty to do to someone you know.” 

“I made him. Your mother offered us buy an island money to solve your murder,” Octavia explained. “There was some deception.” Clarke sighed and looked between the siblings and leans back in her chair. 

“I’m relatively sure that the person who killed me was hired to kill me,” Clarke explains. “Because I found out things that I shouldn’t have.”

“Well that’s unenlightening. Seriously, Clarke, we’ll split the money with you and we’ll still have enough to buy an island,” Octavia tells her. 

“You don’t feel like it’s cheating or morally ambiguous to do what you do?” Clarke asked Bellamy. He shrugged.

“It helps O, it makes money, and I never, ever keep them alive for more than a minute… except, you know, you. And…”

“And the less said on that the better,” Octavia cuts in. “He wants to be a nice normal bookshop owner. I think it’s a crime to waste his talents.”

“When did you find out?” Clarke asks. “About your gift? The time limit? Does it just work on people, or?” Bellamy sighed. 

“When my mother died. I touched her and she wasn’t dead. And then-,” Bellamy began. Octavia cut him off.

“And then she touched him again about two hours later and died again. No second chances after that one. There were experiments. It was a very interesting Autumn,” Octavia explains. Clarke nods thoughtfully. 

“Do you know who died when you revived your mother, albiet temporarily?” Clarke asked.

“Yes,” Bellamy said and the same time as Octavia said, “Maybe.” They glared at each other. Clarke took another sip of her drink.

“I’m not stupid, you know,” Clarke points out. “Deductive reasoning suggests my father was the casualty of your weird super powers and you discovering them. Which, I mean, technically not your fault. But also kind of your fault. This is a lot to process.” Bellamy and Octavia exchanged another look.

“I have a spare bedroom,” Bellamy says after an awkward minute of silence. 

“Jesus Christ,” Octavia mutters. “You do remember that if you touch her again she dies?” Bellamy sighs, and Clarke smiles at him, and he hates the feeling in his chest when she does because she’s beautiful and smiling and sitting in his bookshop drinking coffee. It feels like it should have been. 

“I’d like to see your spare room,” Clarke says, and then she pauses. “But I’m dead, right? I mean, I can’t work or earn money or go out in public. I’m kind of high profile, right?” Octavia nods.

“You can work here. Or with O. She still needs your help to get her buy an island money,” Bellamy points out. Octavia scowls at him, but it’s a ‘I hate that you’re right’ scowl, not a ‘you’re an idiot’ scowl. On second thought, it might be both. 

“Bookshop by day, super powered detective by night? Doesn’t that sound like the kind of job description a seven year comes up with on a sugar high?” Clarke asks. Octavia snorts.

“You have met, Bell, right?” she asks. 

“Just a bookshop owner. No detectiving. Just… you know… the odd helpful minute,” Bellamy interjects. “I like the books. I don’t like the investigations. They’re depressing.” Octavia sighs heavily and rolls her eyes. 

“I like it,” Clarke points out. “It’s… gothic and romantic. In the, you know, art history sense. Not in the Jane Eyre sense.” Octavia gives him a look that says with amazing clarity that he is not only a gigantic idiot, but also incredibly screwed and he is going to be so pathetic about never being able to touch her and she’s moving into his spare room. He’s stopped being surprised by his understanding of her nonverbal communication. He tries to hide a smile. It’s not going well. Octavia’s probably right. 

“Well,” Clarke says, when she gets sick of watching the siblings communicate silently. “Someone should show me the room and I’ll start telling you about why I was murdered.”

“I’ll show you the room,” Octavia says, standing. “And you can tell me why you were murdered.”

“You better share some of the money with me now I’m staying alive,” Clarke says as they’re walking away.

“You’ve got free room and board, and, you know, food. I think you just get to consider yourself taken care of,” Octavia replies as they head out of earshot. 

 

Bellamy watches them go and stares at his coffee. Miller sits down in the chair vacated by Clarke. 

“I thought Clarke died,” Miller says. “You were upset. There was weird grieving and more glaring than usual.” Bellamy nods.

“It’s… complicated,” Bellamy says, because it is. Miller hums.

“It kind of looks like she’s moving in with you guys,” Miller points out. Bellamy nods again.

“That is happening, yes,” Bellamy agrees. Miller hums again. 

“So she basically faked her death for some reason and she’s hiding out here?” Miller asks. Bellamy looks at him, frowning. Miller shrugs.

“It’s the only thing I can think of that makes sense,” Miller explains. Bellamy nods.

“We’ll go with that,” Bellamy agrees. “It’s complicated.” Miller raises his eyebrows.

“When isn’t it with you?” Miller asks, standing up, collecting the empty coffee cups. 

 

Well, Bellamy thought to himself, it wasn’t like it was going to get less complicated any time soon. But he figured he should probably work up a little contrition. Because if he’s being honest… (he pictures Clarke’s smile)...he regretted nothing. 


End file.
